


The Handmaid's Tale

by Persephonesheart



Series: Malec random one-shots [6]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments (Movies), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alpha Asmodeus, Alpha Magnus Bane, Alpha Simon Lewis, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - The Handmaid's Tale Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beta Camille Belcourt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Forced Relationship, M/M, Omega Alec Lightwood, Omega Jace Wayland, References to The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-02-16 08:12:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephonesheart/pseuds/Persephonesheart
Summary: The Republic of the Downworld offers omegas, like Alec, one purpose to life: To breed children for alphas. If he tries to fight or break away he will be punished and hanged at the wall or sent away to die slowly of a magical sickness. But even in such a repressed state desire cannot obliterate desire - especially if the two fighting for love are fated to be together.Updated and new bits added in.





	The Handmaid's Tale

He slept in what once had been the institute training room. The floor was of glass plating with wooden dummies still in place, though the weapons were gone. A balcony ran around the room, for the spectators of old, and he thought he could smell, faintly like a long lost dream, the pungent scent of sweat, shot through with the metallic glimmer of blood from sparring matches gone too far. Matches would have been held there; the sound lingered, a palimpsest of unheard sound, metal clashing with metal, an undercurrent of grunts, a painful wail, walls decorated with banners celebrating the heroes of war, rows of weapons and training mats.

There was old desperation in the room and loneliness, an expectation, of something without a shape or name. He remembered that yearning when he first presented, for something that was always about to happen and was never the same as the hands that were on him there and then, in the small of the back, or out back, in the ops center, or in the library with only silence and the turning pages of a book.

He had yearned for the future. How did he learn it, that talent for insatiability? It had been in the air; and it was still in the air, an afterthought, as he tried to sleep, in the canvas beds once used for tired Shadowhunters and set up in rows, with spaces between so no one could talk. He had a flannelette sheet, like a child, and Shadowhunter issue blankets, old ones from when the  _Nephilim_  still had their intended use.

He folded his clothes neatly and laid them on the stools at the ends of the bed. The lights had been almost shut off but not completely out. Uncle Aldertree and Uncle Hodge patrolled; they had magical demon induced seraph blades slung on holsters from their leather belts. No other weapons though, especially not Shadowhunter ones, as even they could not be trusted with those. Weapons,  _real_  weapons, were for the guards, specially picked from the Downworld army,  _The Angels_.

The guards weren’t allowed inside the institute except when called, and he wasn’t allowed out, except for the standardised walks, twice daily, two by two around the park outside which was now enclosed by a chain-link fence topped with adamas lined barbed wire.

The Angels stood outside it with their backs to him. They were objects of fear to him, but something more important as well. If only they would look or scent him. If only he could make them turn around and claim him. Something could be exchanged, he thought, some deal, some trade-off, he still had his sweet scented body. That was his fantasy.

He learned to whisper almost without sound. In the semi-darkness of the training room, he could stretch out his arm, when the uncles weren’t looking, and touch his roommates hands from across space. He learned to lip-read, his head flat on the bed, turned sideways, watching the room’s other occupants mouths moving. In this way he and the others exchanged names, from bed to bed:

Jace. Underhill. Preston. Raj.  _Alexander._

* * *

 

 

A chair, a bed, a bulb less lamp. They were the only things in Alec’s room when he arrived and the only thing still there. The overhanging light, possibly a chandelier, had long since been removed, the faded scratch marks dull and silver, and he was not trusted to safely use hangers.

They had made that mistake before.

One window, two frail, translucent curtains, a small sill with a cushion to sit upon. On hot days, when the window is partially open – it can only open partially – a nice, cool breeze comes into the room and moves the curtains. Alec likes to sit on the chair, or the sill, with his hands in his lap and watch this happen.

On sunny days, the window lets in a small square area of light onto the floor. It warms the area nicely, and when not doing chores, Alec likes sitting in that warmth and breathing deeply – he does not like thoughts that come on unsunny days.

By the door there is a picture frame. It has no glass, he is not allowed near glass, and in the center is a pressed flower stuck to the wall. _Lavender._ Alec thinks at least. It’s been so long since he’s seen lavender to know.

He wonders what was in the frame originally. Perhaps a picture of a child, possibly one who lived in this room years ago, or maybe of a family. Happy and red-cheeked. Maybe inside was a poem, stitched onto white fabric and decorated with flowers. Does every handmaid have this room? This Layout? This flower? Is it government issue or simply a commander choice thing?

Poems are forbidden now, as are pictures, but flowers are still allowed, encouraged even. It makes a nice difference to the cream coloured walls and furniture of this room he has been assigned in the house.

His bed is standard Nephilim issue. Single, with a firm mattress, and single sheet. Nothing happens on this bed, only sleep, but sometimes Alec likes to imagine. Sometimes he thinks he can smell the sweat and perfume wafting from the bed, heard the moans and growls of a pair ravaging and desperate.

He imagines who might once have lied there. Lovers entwined like stars, a child, hiding a lover under the covers so parent may not see. He imagines the desperate rutting and quickening movements. The chocked off pants and mewls and hands scratching deep, blood red, lines into a back.

This is his room, not really _his_ room, but his room, nonetheless. At least that’s what he calls it.

He stops imagining. No one likes to face loneliness when there is no other option available. He could have had that love once, almost did. He can remember bright green eyes and a boyish smile, dimples deep and unforgiving. A soft voice calling his name and laughing freely whilst on patrol.

He remembers the call of alarm a few years ago now.

It does no good to think about these things, not anymore. Thinking hurts your chances and Alec intends to survive. What good would it even do, to dwell on things that have long fled from his grasp with no chance to return or find an appropriate end.

His window is shatter-proof. _Everything_ is shatterproof after a period of trying and testing on previous experiments. The Downworlder’s have it worked out now though. Alec knows they worked out other’s methods, other’s ways, and worked on how to stop them.

He is not the first OffAsmodeus and he will not be the last. He prays to Raziel they will find a way out.

 

* * *

 

 

Alec had been nervous when they had first brought him to the commander’s house.  _Asmodeus Bane_  Alec had heard him be called through whispers in the red centre.

He was a central figure in the downfall of the Nephilim and the setup of modern society. _A ruthless, evil, man,_ someone had said, but Alec didn’t know who, he didn’t learn their name.

It was his third house on rotation and would be his final one should a baby fail to appear; Omega’s were given very little chance to produce what the regime desired. His life was worth very little at that moment. He would be sent away, to place no one spoke of and no one returned from.

The commander’s wife, an alpha of mundane heritage, had greeted him and Jace stiffly at the door when they arrived and stared, disgusted, at their meagre suitcases on the step of the door. They were red canvas bags, small and worn out, and a guardian had carried them to the door, as per protocol, and rang the doorbell.

But it was not the bags she disliked; Alec was aware.

She had taken one look at Jace, grunted, and moved aside with a small role of her grey eyes. Jace was silent as the guardian lazily picked up his red bag and escorted him inside. Alec had watched his back from the corner of his eyes, unwilling to move his gaze from the alpha before him.

Jace was hers but he was not. There was a message there.

“He is my husband, you understand,” she had growled out, forcing Alec to duck his head in submission, “Understand that, _my_ husband.”

“Yes.” Alec had said.

If any of the commander’s, guardians, or eyes had heard her words, or seen the disrespect she showed him, ta black van would have turned up and Alec would have turned away. But this alpha knew the rules and knew how to bend them to her will without discovery. She was safe.

_Try to think about it from their point of view_ , Uncle Hodge had barked out during their regular school times, _it isn’t easy for them._

She had stared at him a little longer, frowned a little deeper, before letting him enter. It would be the only time he would enter through the front door; the honour not being allowed beyond the initial meeting.

She couldn’t hurt him, not really, but she could beat him with the scripture, it was allowed. It was _written_. Alec would have to comply with her wishes if he wished to live contently – never happily – in this household.

 

* * *

 

 

Alec had soon realised upon entry of the house that, with the commander’s wife obsessed with Jace and hating his presence, and the ceremony happening only once every month, he was left alone to complete his chores with little care. The Martha’s job was everything to do with the inside of the house, the Handmaid’s did all outside chores.

Alec enjoyed the gardening. It allowed a flush of colour into his red tinted life and provided a breath of fresh air from the stifling and awkward tension of inside. He only had his hands for tools though, shears and trowels had long since disappeared.

Shopping he looked upon with a neutral indifference.

But the commander’s behaviour was now scaring him and Alec felt himself flinch harshly whenever the man entered the same room. His safety, his ability to be content, was at risk. The black van was only a phone call away. It was not Asmodeus’ life at stake.

He’d been safe when he first arrived, blissful in his caged existence. He never saw the commander beyond the ceremony, and even then the man would not make eye-contact, awkwardly pounding into him with a one-two stroke rhythm. So Alec had been left to do his household chores with little care beyond the obvious.

But then the commander changed the rules and made Alec his mistress. If they were caught out, if anyone knew about the secret meetings Asmodeus planned and the way he gave Alec ‘gifts’, his own life would be forfeit. Alec would keep his head down, if he wanted to survive.

His cat eyes stared openly at Alec and his hands would wander where they were not allowed. He spoke openly to Alec in hallways, and growled out insults daily, each one worse than the last. His hands would turn to fists, his smile to knifepoints and Alec would be left bleeding and alone on a bed he wasn’t supposed to stay in.

Asmodeus was rich enough that these things could easily be hidden and those who knew could be made to look away. Sometimes he would be locked in his room, cold and alone, with a mask tied around his mouth so as to stop his voice from being heard. Asmodeus was cruel and hatefully, rejecting every law and disregarding safety.

It was one of the core rules of the regime. _Do not harm your omega handmaid._

Babies could be hurt that way. An egg and a womb were off limits and far too precious for such risks. If Alec were to become pregnant and lose the child, the black van would be outside the house.

If anyone found out, then his life would be ruined.  _Ordinary,_ Uncle Hodge said,  _is what you are used to. This may not seem ordinary to you now, but after a time it will._  Alec wasn’t sure if his life would ever go back to being ordinary. Not after what Asmodeus had made him suffer.

Occasionally Camille, the beta  _Martha_ who worked in the kitchen of the household, would try to get him in trouble, but her attempts were too small and fruitless and she would be punished. She did not like the attention he received from the heads of house, resented that she had been reduced from a refined position to little more than a maid.

He’d heard stories from other houses, other Martha’s _,_ of similar things happening. Acts of jealousy and insanity that went too deep, that damaged more than could be repaired. He had seen the green dresses of the Martha’s hanging, like snowman, on the wall, their crimes written on their boards like a brand.

Ultimately Alec’s life was monotonous, beyond the realm of the commander’s room. His thoughts would roam and become bored, his hands restless and his eyes dry as he waited for something to happen. His thoughts were dangerous and unbidden, Asmodeus would kill him if he knew the Omega was thinking of his life before. He would spend time just looking at his arms and legs, mind disconnected as he saw his body but didn’t feel it.

Was that what he’d become? An entity split into two? One of mind and one of body?

His hair had grown long these past few weeks.

Alec and Jace would walk into town every other day to get food and necessities using their tokens, they would garden on sunny days and clean the house when not. They were not to speak to anyone unless spoken to first and they most certainly were not allowed to remove the handmaid costume given to them on their first night at the red centre.

Red shoes, flat heeled to spare the spine and to make less noise, red gloves that Alec stored on the end of his bed every night so as to not forget them. His skirt ankle length, full, gathered to a flat yoke that extends past his pecs and sleeves that were full. The white wings surrounding his face are prescribed issue; Alec knew they were to keep him from seeing but also from being seen. Everything is the colour of fresh blood and he knows Isabelle wouldn’t have appreciated the outfits – that was if she was even alive to see them.

Alec hadn’t seen her in so long.

His last image of her, a blurred figure running desperately through the trees as dark figures of smoke and screams pelted towards her. He’d blacked out before she’d been captured.

 

* * *

 

 

The household had been called in the living room for a meeting five minutes ago, the guardian beta, Simon, having come to fetch himself and Jace from their place in the garden. All but Asmodeus had since gathered together in the living room of the mansion, waiting for the commander to arrive, stiffly and silently.

Alec and Jace were kneeling, as was customary, with heads bowed in submission and solemnity, while Simon and Camille stood sternly behind them. From the corner of his eye Alec watched as Simon had placed the tip of his shoe against the back of Jace’s. A dangerous game of love and lust. He shivered to think what would happen if any other members of the household found out.

The wife  _Diah,_ a mundane lucky enough to marry a warlock but someone who did not live up to her name _,_ was sat on the only available chair. She was old, much older than the commander would ever appear to be, with frail bones and weathered skin. She had tried to dress herself up for her husband but Alec thought she looked completely ridiculous, with dying flowers weaved into her hair and a flowing dress that highlighted everything wrong with her body.

Alec didn’t know if she was trying to tempt her husband to bed, preserve her long faded youth, or appeal to Jace _._ That woman carried a strong burning torch for the blonde, a dangerous and hateful thing of jealousy and spite she would use against her husband if he cared enough.

In moments like these, the house gathered together and awaiting Asmodeus, Alec remembered his meeting of  _Diah_ when he first came to the house, a meagre suitcase his only belonging. He remembered her cold calculating eyes and sneer as she took in his red outfit and sweet smelling omega hormones. 

Her harsh warning to keep her husband as her husband continued striking his ears throughout the weeks of the betrayal and Alec shamefully dropped his head lower and more demurely. He’s been forced beyond his will to break that rule, but he would be the one to face punishment for it.

After a long period of silence and uncomfortable kneeling, the commander finally arrived. He looked as he always did; A young man’s body wrapped around the mind of an old one, with a body shaped like a coke bottle – or at least what Alec remembered them looking like. Perhaps Alec could steal one of the vintage bottles in the commander’s office. He’d like to steal  _something_. Something to call his own.

“Blessed be.” He began and Alec heard himself and the others murmur it back, the standard greeting for any formal or social gathering nowadays. How long had it been since anyone had started a conversation with something different?

“I won’t keep you long, I’m sure you all have important things to do.” He laughs slightly at his own comment, an evil but light-hearted laugh of fake sounding joy, and Alec can’t stop the internal wince that occurs when the commander slightly bends his neck so that his eyes deliberately catch his own blue one.

As always, a lascivious grin, etched like a scar, on his face.

“I simply have to tell you that my son will be returning home today!” He exclaimed cheerfully, his voice less monotone and awkward than ever before. Whilst his wife jumped up in a rare display of happiness and Camille left off a slightly less pissed off scent – clearly she had met the son before – the rest of the room clapped sedately, head bowed and awaiting instruction.

“His name is Magnus and he will be arriving this afternoon with a couple of friends. Offasmodeus and Offdiah especially, I expect you to greet him respectfully and with restraint, do not show him your faces or give him your scents. He is to take over my position in a few years and so I demand you all treat him with the same respect as you do me. Dismissed.”

He stops abruptly then simply walks back out the very door he came through only minutes ago, he will send Simon as a messenger tonight, Alec is sure. He will need to be more cautious now his son is home, but he won’t stop.

Soon the rest of the room filters out and Alec feels himself stand up along with Jace and move quietly towards his room. He won’t be out of the room until either Magnus arrives or Asmodeus calls him, so he will take the time to lie on the bed and sleep. It is all he has to now to do.

His name wasn’t Offasmodeus, not that it mattered anymore, but he didn’t want it to become Offmagnus or be removed completely and his body taken far away, so he suffered through this life. He hoped that perhaps the son would be different, obey the rules or leave him alone completely, but if Magnus Bane was as bad as his father, then Alec’s life dangled by a thread.

**Author's Note:**

> Halla! As you can probably guess already this is a story based off the handmaids tale. I'm planning so that it will only consist of two/three chapters, with this being a introductary chapter much shorter than the other but if you want a long extended version - rather than the condensed one planned - then please let me know and I'll be happy to do so.  
> Anyway I hope you enjoyed this and please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked or didn't and any suggestions you have for future fics.


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